X Marks the Spot
by JadziaKathryn
Summary: The end of the road for Shuttlepod One is the beginning of an adventure for Malcolm and Trip.


A/N: Written for settiai in the Enterprise Ficathon. The assignment was Reed/Tucker friendship, mention of Malcolm/Hoshi and/or Trip/T'Pol isn't required but would make me very happy, shuttlepod crash, mention of Malcolm's aquaphobia, "I don't care what you saw, this wasn't my fault! ... I think."

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Paramount, unfortunately.

**X Marks the Spot**

Malcolm became dimly aware that he was lying on his back in a damp uniform. He hated the feeling of cloth sticking to him, but that thought was distracted by the unmistakable sound of waves crashing to shore not very far away.

A groan escaped his lips. Damp uniform, waves – it wasn't adding up to anything he cared to remember. The smell of salty air reinforced Malcolm's belief that he was much better off before he started to come around.

"You're awake!" exclaimed Trip, who was probably casting the shadow over his eyes. He ventured to open his eyes halfway and saw that Trip was, indeed, hunched over him.

"What happened?" he asked, despite the feeling that he didn't actually want to know. Gritty, salty sand rubbed against his tongue.

"You're one heck of a dead weight, Lieutenant. It's a good thing we weren't that far from this island."

Malcolm peered over Trip's shoulder to see that, between the crests of waves, Shuttlepod One's nose could be seen. Only a few centimeters of it stuck out above the water, and when the waves swelled up they covered it completely. He didn't really want to remember how it got there.

"Did I hit my head or something?" he asked, because nothing hurt but he'd clearly been unconscious.

"Nope. We hit the water an' left the 'pod. We popped our heads up, but before we could start swimming' you passed out. I had to drag you here."

"Sorry for the inconvenience." Inwardly, Malcolm was berating himself for passing out.

"Hey, that's what friends are for. What's the last thing you remember?"

Malcolm considered that for a moment. They'd finished upgrading the engines in the shuttlepods, so Captain Archer had sent him and Trip out to test Shuttlepod One while T'Pol and Travis tested Shuttlepod Two. Their rendezvous was supposed to be in two days, but he had no way of knowing how much time had passed.

He and Trip had been maneuvering around a solar system, minding their own business, when out of nowhere a ship started firing on them without even communicating. The ship had used a slingshot-style weapon. "I've never seen a weapon like that used on a starship," he declared.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Remember anythin' after that?"

"It got rather warm in the shuttlepod."

"That tends to happen when you're blazin' through the atmosphere at twice the recommended speed. Not to mention the hull was fallin' apart."

Sighing, Malcolm sat up and looked at the shuttlepod forlornly. "I don't suppose we can salvage it this time."

"Probably not," admitted Trip, as much as it pained him to do so. "The damage from the weapons we coulda fixed, maybe even the crash damage if we'd hit land. With the salt water, though, I don't think there's much we can do."

"Splendid. We get to go down in history as the first people who managed to damage a shuttlepod beyond repair."

"It's not like we fired on it," defended Trip. "Besides, I'm sure we won't be the last."

Malcolm frowned, then gave Trip a wry smile. "Well, there are worse things to be remembered by."

This got the desired reaction. Trip groaned. "Am I ever gonna live that one down?"

"As a matter of fact, Commander, it's one of my goals in life to ensure that you don't."

"I thought it was a game. I sure as hell didn't think I was gonna get pregnant from a box of pebbles!"

"You know what they say about assuming."

Trip was uncharacteristically silent. Malcolm looked over to find his friend staring at the sand and absentmindedly twirling a stick.

After a tense moment, Trip spoke quietly. "I think about her sometimes, you know. Especially after our Elizabeth…" his voice trailed off as he jabbed the stick into the sand. "I know that I couldn't raise an alien baby on _Enterprise_, but still, I think about her."

That admission caught Malcolm off guard. _Just great_, he thought to himself. _Act like a cold-hearted rotter to one of your best friends. _Malcolm was very good at chastising himself when the occasion warranted. He was joking about Trip's brush with pregnancy, and the man was sincerely curious what became of the girl. "I had no idea," he said awkwardly. It sounded bad even to him.

"I didn't expect anyone would."

"I'm sorry, Trip. It was inconsiderate."

"Well, it's not like I talk about it. We put ourselves out here never knowin' what's gonna happen. You've gotta roll with the punches."

"I don't mind old-fashioned punches," remarked Malcolm, hoping to lighten the mood. "It's the concealed weapons that bother me the most."

Trip laughed. "I thought it was the most powerful one that annoyed you most."

"No, those are the ones I'm most jealous of. Concealed weapons are the worst, because you can't come up with a strategy to defeat them."

Trip grinned and stood up, resuming his assessment of Malcolm's health. "How many fingers?"

Inside Sickbay or out of it, Malcolm didn't like any kind of medical tests. "Twelve."

"Very funny, Lieutenant, but I'm not lettin' you look at that phase pistol you grabbed until you answer."

"We have the phase pistol?" Suddenly Malcolm perked up. "Is it working?"

"I've never seen anyone keep a death grip while they were unconscious, but you had that phase pistol all the way. Now, how many fingers?"

"Three," Malcolm answered dutifully.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright, here's your phase pistol." Trip pulled the prize from his pocket and handed it to Malcolm. "I didn't even have to steal any parts for my beacon." He gestured over to a small tower a meter and a half away. "We're definitely gonna need new communicators, though."

"You managed to make a beacon?" That was hopeful on two fronts. First, it meant that _Enterprise_ would have an easier time rescuing them. Second, it boded well for his phase pistol.

"It's not my best work ever, but it should get the job done," shrugged Trip.

"Blast."

"What?"

"This phase pistol is useless. The salt is interfering with the beam generator. Water's gotten into the power supply as well. Although if – no, that's ruined too. Wonderful. We're stuck on an island without any form of defense."

Trip looked around the small, treeless isle. "I don't think we're gonna meet any hungry predators, Malcolm. An' I'm pretty sure that those guys with the slingshot think we're dead."

"Or about to die," mumbled Malcolm, who felt rather tricked about the phase pistol, as he was almost certain Trip could've told just by looking at it that it was useless.

"Look on the bright side."

"What bright side? Do you mean the blinding glare of the sun? Because that's on _every_ side."

"We can relax." To prove the point, Trip lay down and smiled. "Ahh. It's been a while since I had nothin' to do but soak up the sun."

"And how long do you suppose before the dehydration sets in?"

"It's not gonna take that long to find us. Relax, Malcolm."

"I haven't even finished the poem," bemoaned Malcolm, trying his hardest not to think about all the water that surrounded him.

"Poem?"

He immediately regretted mentioning it. "It's nothing, really."

"I've got nothing better to talk about."

Malcolm considered Trip one of his closest friends, but he did not especially relish the thought of explaining his poetic attempts. "It's not even worth mentioning."

"But you did, an' I've got a whole afternoon to drive you up the wall askin' about it."

Considering the conspicuous lack of walls on the small island, that left driving Malcolm into the sea. He didn't think anything would make him that desperate. However, Trip did have a point about annoying him until he confessed.

"Alright, but if you laugh, the engines will malfunction so spectacularly that you won't have time to laugh again for a month."

"This oughtta be good."

"I'm trying to write a poem for Hoshi's present. It's the sixth-month anniversary of our first date next week."

Trip grinned. "Trying your hand at love poems, Malcolm?"

"I told you not to laugh."

"I'm not laughing."

"Hoshi likes poetry, and I want to give her something personal."

Swatting away a bug, Trip considered that for a moment. "I'm sure she'll love it. Really. She is one-hundred-percent, totally in love with you."

"I've got no idea what I did to deserve her, but she's amazing. She's – well, she's Hoshi."

"So can I hear some of it? Surely you've got this poem in that steel trap mind of yours."

"I haven't written anything worth remembering yet." Malcolm slapped a bug and flicked the dead insect to the ground. "Actually, what I've written is so horrible that I'm trying quite hard _not_ to remember it."

"Can I hear the finished product?"

"Certainly not."

"Well, maybe Hoshi'll tell me." In response, Malcolm could only drop his head between his hands.

After a time, he pulled his head up and asked, "What's next week's movie?" It seemed like a much less embarrassing subject to discuss. "Something like this week's?" He hoped so. Trip had managed to get a copy of a new movie that had just been released on Earth. The plot was a stretch, but the special effects were spectacular. A few hovercraft explosions could, in Malcolm's opinion, make up for a lousy plot.

Trip paused his footrest construction to answer. "_Les Miserables_. The version that came out eight or nine years ago." He then resumed pushing sand around for his footrest.

"That doesn't seem like your usual style."

"It's not. It's mostly T'Pol's."

Malcolm thought that perhaps he'd heard wrong. "T'Pol's?"

"Yep," grinned Trip. "She asked why we don't watch the movie versions of any classic literature."

"Aha. Hence _Les Miserables_. Did she have any other requests?"

"We're watchin' Shakespeare in two weeks. _Othello_, to be specific, because I've always thought that it was one of the better ones."

"You couldn't have opted for _Hamlet_?" asked Malcolm, who didn't care for Trip's Shakespeare of choice. "Othello was hard to like. He was really quite idiotic, in fact."

"At least he did something," countered Trip. "Hamlet just sat around and whined."

"He had fascinating philosophical questions and reflections on the condition of humanity." Now there weren't any explosions in _Hamlet_, but, contrary to popular opinion, explosions weren't the only thing Malcolm liked.

"Riiight."

"At least he had brains in his head. The man had strategies."

Trip, who did not especially want to debate about the plays of Shakespeare, had found something else of interest. "Never mind Shakespeare an' his plays. I never cared all that much for any of 'em." He pointed over to his left. "Look at the birds on that rock."

"I've never seen a bird that looked like it would blend in with your shirts before," commented Malcolm. The birds were, in fact, a host of various bright colors that resembled some of Trip's Hawaiian shirts.

"What can I say, I have good taste." At that, Malcolm rolled his eyes. He knew Trip as a brilliant engineer, but his taste in clothing left much to be desired. Malcolm preferred not to draw attention to himself with neon clothing. It was asking for trouble. Of course, trouble seemed to have a way of finding him, but that came with his job.

Trip swatted at another bug. "Stupid bugs. Go eat something else!"

"They're enjoying the human buffet," observed Malcolm.

"Biting right through our uniforms, too."

"We'll have to remember to file a complaint when we get back."

"Right." Leaning back, Trip smiled. "This is a nice, relaxed place, bugs aside. Maybe we should go for another dip. A planned one, this time."

Malcolm tried to sound casual. "I don't care much for swimming."

"What? How can you not like swimming?"

Not particularly eager to share his phobia despite his great trust in Trip, Malcolm replied, "Some people don't like tennis. I happen to enjoy it very much. Some people like swimming. I don't."

"I can't believe it. Do you know how to swim?"

"My father made sure of that. I was supposed to join the Navy, remember? It's rather stupid to join the Navy if you can't swim." Hundreds of years ago that had been the norm, but Malcolm preferred not to think about that.

"Oh," said Trip. "For a minute I thought maybe you passed out because you can't swim, but that must not be it. Well, I've been on worse botched away missions." He let a handful of sand run through his fingers and added, "I've been on worse vacations, too. This is much better than Risa."

"I'm actually starting to relax, so let's not bring that up." Actually, he wasn't really relaxed, but relatively speaking, he didn't think he was going to pass out. That made him _more_ relaxed than he had been.

"Why not? It was kinda funny, really. Not when it happened, but now that it's been awhile…we must've made quite a picture comin' back."

"I would prefer not to think about one of my worst professional and personal humiliations, thank you."

"Alright, have it your way. Let's go check out those birds."

"I hardly think they'll be thrilled to have us walk up."

"We won't go too close. Just close enough to get a better look." Malcolm hesitated, but Trip was determined. "We've gotta pass the time somehow!"

"Oh, alright."

Trip was all smiles as they walked over. "Look at those colors!" He whistled in appreciation. "I've never seen such a bright yellow."

"Me neither." Malcolm didn't sound nearly as impressed.

"These're magnificent creatures. Careful on the rocks, Malcolm."

"Says the man who's going twice as fast."

"Look, there's a good perch right there."

Trip stepped in closer and started a long slide down. Malcolm reflexively shot out his arms in an attempt to steady his friend, but only succeeded in getting himself pulled down. There was a duet of a rather sickening sound as Trip's head hit the rock first, then Malcolm's.

"Ouch," muttered Trip.

Malcolm spent a minute watching the stars (and what he thought was a comet) swirl around his head. He was about to give in to their mesmerizing dance and sleep when a flash of panic ran down his spine. _The tide could be rising!_

He wasn't taking any chances. "Trip, we have to move," he slurred. "Water comes up."

"I'm comfy."

"That doesn't matter." His head ached as he sat up, but his fear of drowning drove the pain aside. "We have to move."

"Not time to get up yet."

"It is too. Now move." Trip didn't reply. "Here we go." Malcolm forced himself to stand up. Everything seemed to wobble, but that was no matter. He bent over, which caused several stars to reappear, and pulled Trip's head up. With his arms under Trip's, he was able to support the engineer's body.

That was, until he fell over and landed squarely on his rear. It knocked the wind out of him for a moment. Once he could breathe again, however, the crashing waves reminded him of his mission.

Dragging Trip along, Malcolm slowly made his way backwards to higher ground. It took every bit of concentration he had to put one foot behind the other. Time slowed until he couldn't be certain that it was passing at all.

He fell again, but this time the sand cushioned his fall. Malcolm watched a puff of sand fly up before starting again. "Now who's a dead weight?" he asked Trip's unresponsive form. "Guess this makesuseven." His tongue seemed to blend all the words together until they sounded unfamiliar to his own ears.

Step by painful step, Malcolm trod on and dragged Trip with him. He didn't know how far up to go, but decided that the further, the better. _Never know_, he mused._ Could've ended up on this blasted planet's Bay of…what is it again? Bay of Frudy? Bay of Fury? _That broke his concentration, and once again Malcolm tumbled to the ground.

Forcing himself up, Malcolm grabbed Trip's forearms and continued on. He guessed that he'd gone a couple of meters by then, but it was impossible to be certain, because everything was blurry. Left foot…right foot…left foot…right foot…right foot...

This time, when he fell, Malcolm succumbed to his injury and didn't get up again.

"You're up," declared Trip. In fact, Malcolm had only been half-awake, but the remark finished rousing him.

"I don't remember deciding to take a nap."

"Me neither."

"We picked a rather strange spot for a nap."

Trip looked at their erstwhile beds and laughed. "Do you see a better one?"

He had a point. The entire island, with the exception of a few bird-dotted cliffs, was sandy and without cover that would provide shade. If they'd chosen a strange spot to nap, it was really no less strange than anyplace else on the island.

"Oh," exclaimed Malcolm suddenly, "the fish are dancing." There must have been over a hundred, he thought, and they were quite talented dancers. He didn't know how they balanced so well on their fins. In wonderfully straight lines, besides, with every other fish purple and the next green, alternating all the way – it was like nothing Malcolm had ever seen fish do before.

"I don't see any dancin' fish."

"They're in plain sight, and while I'm not an expert, I think they've got quite good form."

"But they're also invisible." Trip chuckled. "Invisible dancing fish. Maybe we should try to catch some. Chef could cook them…if he could see to put them in the pan!" His chuckles had grown into a full-fledged roar.

"I'm not joking."

It took Trip a moment to reply due to the fit of laughter. "Oh, of course not," he wheezed out at last.

"Trip, the fish are talking now."

"What?"

"Look!" Malcolm pointed to the fish, concerned about Trip's eyesight. "You can't possibly miss them. They're telling you that if you hadn't killed some of them landing the shuttlepod, they would've helped us."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. I don't see any fish. How're fish gonna help us, anyway?"

"I don't know, exactly. They're not telling because you killed some of them. Now they're gone. You really made those fish mad."

"I don't care what you saw, this wasn't my fault!" Trip rolled over onto his side. "I think."

"Well, that's reassuring."

"It's a little hard to tell with the trees doin' gymnastics."

"Don't be ridiculous. There aren't any trees on this island." Malcolm turned to look. "You must be seeing th…" The rest of his sentence trailed off. Sure enough, he distinctly saw five trees doing what appeared to be a complicated series of somersaults. "Could both of us be seeing things?"

"Nah. This is just a weird planet."

"Hoshi is never going to believe this."

"We should take one of those trees back with us," suggested Trip.

"To prove that they're really somersaulting about the island?"

"No. Well, I mean, that too, but I was thinkin' of the arboretum. Wouldn't that be great? I'm sure Ensign Llyn could find some space for it to exercise."

"I don't know. It could be a security threat."

"Uh-huh. Those trees look really dangerous, Malcolm. Maybe you should somersault over there and scare 'em."

"That last move looked suspiciously like a punch." Malcolm eyed the trees critically. Branches seemed to shoot in and out in a not-very-disciplined martial art. Not disciplined, however, was a far cry from not dangerous, and he intended to be ready for any security threats, strange as they might be.

"I think there's a big bird in the middle tree," declared Trip. "An' I don't see any punches."

"Well, they aren't very formal. Still, it could be dangerous." Then Malcolm turned to look at his friend. "What do you mean, a bird? I don't see any birds, and how could a bird possibly stay in the tree when it's flailing about like that?"

"Maybe it's got magnets in its feet. I don't know."

"Magnetic feet. Interesting." Taking a minute to ponder this, Malcolm rolled onto his side and looked out to the ocean. The fish were gone, which was a pity, because they'd put on a beautiful show. "I don't think that would be much fun."

"Really?"

"Think about it. You'd always be stuck. Imagine trying to run with magnetic feet."

Trip formed a mental picture of this, which ended in himself falling flat on his face in the middle of Engineering, with his team looking on in amusement. "I s'pose you're right."

Malcolm yawned. "Trip, ask the trees if they're mad at us. If they aren't I could use a bit of sleep."

"What should I call them?"

"I don't know. 'Jumping Trees?' 'Tree Gymnasts?' I suppose as long as it's not offensive they won't object." Malcolm rolled over on to his back.

"Three Gymnasts!" Trip yelled. "I mean, Five Gymnasts. You, the trees! Are you gonna mind us over here?" Satisfied, he laid down with his hands behind his head, fingers intertwined to create a pillow. "They shook their tops, Malcolm, so we're all set."

"Excellent."

"It's kinda too bad they aren't regular trees. We could make an X with the branches."

Malcolm looked at his friend curiously. "An ex what?"

"Not an ex anythin.' Just an X. As in, X marks the spot."

"That seems a bit unnecessary."

"But it'd be fun."

"If you really think so."

"I do," declared Trip. Silence followed for a moment before he pointed straight up. "That cloud over us looks sorta like a dog we had when I was a kid. We called him Sam."

"I don't see a dog."

"Maybe a nap will help you see it."

"Aye, Commander. Lieutenant Reed reporting for a nap." Malcolm chuckled and lifted his hand in a mock salute. Trip rolled his eyes in response.

The last thing Malcolm heard before he fell asleep was the muffled sound of the trees practicing their moves.

Travis followed T'Pol out of Shuttlepod Two and immediately saw the two missing officers. They were lying on the beach, seemingly asleep.

"Commander, Lieutenant," said T'Pol. Neither of them woke up. That was strange, because Malcolm Reed was one of the lightest sleepers Travis had ever met.

Trip stirred when Travis and T'Pol were standing right over him, T'Pol scanning with her tricorder. He lazily opened his eyes, blinked twice, and then poked Malcolm. "Look, Malcolm."

"What?" It sounded as though Trip was interrupting a very pleasant dream.

"See the angels?" He pointed right at Travis and T'Pol. "Two of 'em, right there."

"Those are not angels."

"They look like angels."

Travis wished he had a camera to capture T'Pol's expression during this exchange. She was trying very hard not to look stunned. He himself had no such inhibitions, and was openly staring at his friends in shock. Then again, Travis had a rough idea of what Vulcan society considered proper, and was fairly certain that T'Pol's current facial expression would be considered excessively emotional by most of her fellow Vulcans.

"They most certainly do not," continued Malcolm, oblivious to his crewmates. "They're clearly seraphim."

"Oh." Trip considered this for a moment. "Okay. I was close. Seraphim are kinds of angels, right?"

"They're higher up in the command chain."

"You mean there're ensigns an' lieutenants an' admirals? How do they earn promotions?"

"I don't think they get promotions, but I'm not sure. You'd have to ask them." Malcolm punctuated this with a wave in the general direction of Travis and T'Pol.

"Think those wings are as heavy as they look?"

"They don't look heavy to me."

"Malcolm, they've gotta weigh fourteen kilos each!"

"The Commander and Lieutenant appear to be suffering from severe concussions," concluded T'Pol. "They should be treated in Sickbay at once, as their hallucinations are quite imaginative."

"Should I get a medkit," offered Travis, "or do you just want to bring them back?"

"It would be best to sedate them. We have no way of knowing if they will become violent during the course of these hallucinations as we return them to _Enterprise_."

While fetching the medkit, Travis wondered if Trip and Malcolm would remember any of this when they woke up and Phlox had worked his magic. Either way, he was going to have a very interesting conversation with them…

Malcolm sighed. "Well, now you offended one. Don't you know that weight is a touchy subject in all species?"

"Do seraphim sing? 'Cause I think the other one's singin' to us."

"I don't know. I've never encountered seraphim before. That does have a nice ring to it, though. Singing seraphim. Rather sounds like it should be the name of a band." Malcolm adopted his best emcee voice, which in truth was not very good. "And now, the band you've all been waiting for…the Singing Seraphim!"

Trip clapped. "This band is pretty good! Hey, what's that?"

"It looks a bit like a seal. Impressive. They must have an enormous special effects budget."

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"The guitarist seraph's sayin' something, Malcolm. Do you understand it?"

"No, but it has a nice wand. I like the fireworks on the end. Is it a single seraph but multiple seraphim? I always thought it was seraphim regardless."

"Just one's a seraph, an' I don't see any fireworks goin' off. Hey, since when do seraphim have wands? I think you're mixin' up seraphim and fairies."

"I am not. This must be an unusual seraph. And the fireworks are in plain sight."

Leaving the alleged fireworks aside, Trip mused, "We _are_ on an unknown planet. I suppose the seraphim here_ could_ have wands."

"Why not? If I were a seraph, I'd want a wand. A nice one with something dangerous at the end." Malcolm spent a moment considering how this might work for him before returning to the communications barrier. "I don't think they're talking to us, Trip. Does that sound like any language you recognize?"

"I'd have to ask Hoshi, but I'm pretty sure this is a new one."

"Seraphimese? No. Seraphimian? That doesn't sound right either. Maybe Seraphaic."

"I don't think so. How 'bout Seraphish?" offered Trip.

"Sounds like something you'd catch in a lake. Nothing sounds right."

"Seraphial? Nope, that's too… well, I don't know, but it doesn't sound right." Trip yawned. "All the excitement's made me tired, though. Do you think they'll still be here after we catch a few winks?"

Malcolm considered this carefully. "I don't see why not." He yawned himself. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Sweet dreams, Malcolm." Trip closed his eyes and settled in for a nice nap.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," snickered Malcolm.

"Nah. Those left a long time ago, remember?"

"Quite right. Pleasant dreams, then."

"Bedbugs," mumbled Trip. "Silly Malcolm."

Malcolm woke up with a pounding headache. He was beginning to regret that he woke up at all, but it was too late for that.

"Ah, Lieutenant, you're awake." Phlox sounded as jovial as ever. "You and Commander Tucker had quite pair of concussions."

"You haven't recently acquired a twin, then?" Malcolm muttered as two Phloxes scanned him.

"Just a lingering effect of the concussion, Lieutenant. Your vision should be back to normal within the hour."

Malcolm tried to find Trip, to make sure he was alright, but when he lifted his head Sickbay started spinning. "Take it easy, Lieutenant. Your body is recovering from a serious injury. And Commander Tucker will be fine. He woke up an hour ago and he's sleeping normally now."

Once it had been declared that Trip was recovering and in no danger, there was one face Malcolm wanted to see more than any other. "Where's Hoshi?"

"I sent her to the mess hall to pick up the soup Chef made for you and Commander Tucker." The Phloxes checked in on the bat cage, then walked over. "Ensign Mayweather left a perplexing message for both you and the commander."

"Oh?"

"He asked, 'What language do seraphim speak?'"

Although that sounded vaguely familiar, Malcolm decided that he really, really didn't want to remember this particular away mission.


End file.
